


salivate

by dickaeopolis (dicaeopolis)



Series: sugary [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Ambiguous Physical Sex, Asexual Character, Drunk Sex, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i discovered like six new kinks writing this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 17:00:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9558572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicaeopolis/pseuds/dickaeopolis
Summary: matsukawa's got a sweet tooth.





	

**Author's Note:**

> nat dared me to title this a monty python reference and i almost fuckin did but then [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cXg78H9NAX4) came on and i was like o. im sorry nat

“Mattsuuuuuuuuun-”

Matsukawa’s drunk, maybe. He’s been kicked back on Iwaizumi’s couch all night, watching the party fizz and flow like creamy pink and heady blue and bubbly green soda around him.

Oikawa exists in splotches of peaches, chocolate, the vanilla white of his skinny jeans. His eyes are bright, his stance unsteady. He’s drunk, definitely. Sodapop and vodka and sparkling pink wine, pouring liquid into his smile.

“Mattsun,” Oikawa singsongs again, and flops down on the sofa next to him. Matsukawa shifts to accommodate Oikawa snuggling into the warmth of his chest, and slings an arm over his shoulders in response. Oikawa coos in delight and wiggles closer. “I found you!”

“You did,” Matsukawa tells him, voice low with half a chuckle. He’s always been fond of drunk Oikawa. Mostly because he enjoys thinking about the absolute conniption that Volleyball Monthly would have if they could see their sharp-eyed, silver-tongued cover boy like this - dripping wet smiles and soft, loose touches and melting like strawberry sherbert into the narrow candy-cane curves of Matsukawa’s ribs. He breathes in, exhales, and flows over the goosebumps of Matsukawa’s skin, lapping at the dips of his collarbone and washing into the crook of his hipbones.

“You’re…warm,” Oikawa breathes, and one last fluid surge pushes him up into Matsukawa’s lap. His fingertips press, one pad at a time, against the underside of Matsukawa’s jaw.

Matsukawa tips his chin up, shudders down a breath of confectioner’s sugar and thick cream and two - three - drops of deep, dizzying red.

And then Oikawa opens his mouth, frosted with coral-pink icing, and swallows Matsukawa whole.

* * *

They float up to the guest room at some point. Iwaizumi won’t mind, probably.

It’s dim, besides a little moonlight through the window, and the party is muffled through the floor. Matsukawa can make out the skin of Oikawa’s neck, bare and smooth where his head is tipped back onto the pillows. Can make out Oikawa’s breath, fast and heavy. He’s always had a sneaking suspicion that Oikawa’s vocal cords are coated in caramel, and so he bends to reach them, pressing his lips to the delicate, fluttering push of Oikawa’s heartbeat in his throat.

“I could  _ devour _ you,” he murmurs.

Oikawa’s hips surge off the sheets a little at that, pressing up into Matsukawa’s long, lean warmth.

Matsukawa pops the buttons down Oikawa’s shirt and his vanilla skinny jeans, spreading him open down the center. His hands smooth into the loose fall of the shirt and over Oikawa’s hips, drawing Oikawa up against him. Oikawa’s eyes are lidded with slow, thick honey, and they flutter nearly shut as he rolls up against Matsukawa’s thigh.

When Oikawa’s rhythm is starting to stutter, Matsukawa bends his head to suck a mark into the soft curve of Oikawa’s neck, and pushes his hand down the front of Oikawa’s unbuttoned pants.

Oikawa’s chest shudders with a whimper. His lips fall open, and a river of helpless  _ ohh _ s and quavery moans pours out. All the heady strawberry cream and rich cherry cordial that fills him up inside, flooding down over his chest, Matsukawa’s dark curls, the long, hot caresses of Matsukawa’s hand.

Oikawa is  _ delicious. _

Matsukawa drinks him down. With his teeth and his tongue and his fingers on the tremble of Oikawa’s skin, he spins Oikawa out into cotton sugar, delicate and crystalline and so sweet he’s aching.

The flat of his hand presses against the front of Oikawa’s briefs, palming him with gentle, rocking strokes. He watches him soak through in dripping gasps and Matsukawa’s long, liquid fingers.

Watches him dissolve.

It doesn’t take much - a few particularly deft tugs, a final choked noise from the shuddering depths of Oikawa’s lungs. And then he’s gone, with a few long pulses of syrupy heat that Matsukawa draws out with gentle presses of his fingers. Nothing left but a puddle of sugar-water, oozing across the sheets and winding into their folds and pouring itself into the crook of Matsukawa’s neck.

Matsukawa brings him down with a few last strokes, and then lets out a chuckle with breath he doesn’t have. To Oikawa’s curious glance, he responds, “Gonna be the death of me someday, Tooru.”

“Mmm.” Oikawa doesn’t seem too remorseful. He shifts closer to Matsukawa, and his eyes drift downwards. “Do you-”

Matsukawa shakes his head. “Nah. You know I don’t really - you know.”

“I do,” Oikawa agrees.

He pulls Matsukawa down into a kiss that’s open, lazy, and drenched with sugar.


End file.
